Body moving

I'm not used to being around newborns so everything I notice about Aidan amazes me.  If you think oh, all baby's do that bare with my ignorance. 

When he's going to cry he holds back a little, stretches out, and turns pink, red, then purple. Then he lets out a high pitch screech.  It's actually very useful. We're forewarned with what's coming or shown that he is uncomfortable so we can either move him, gently rock him or if everything seems to be all right and unchangeable, panic.That started on his first day and we've got used to it now.   

More recently it's been his yawns and sneezes.  When he yawns, instead of gently lifting his lower jaw and lulling himself into a relaxing haze after a wide open bout of tiredness he'll close his mouth and cry a little.  I always thought yawns were the most relaxing of reflexes but not for this lad.  

And sneezes?  Well, they just send him to sleep, or at least in to a more relaxed state than he was.

While he sleeps he lifts his arms as if he's conducting a big brass band or choir.  Maybe the talent skipped a generation (my grandad was  a bandmaster and dad has been know to lead choirs).  If he can do it in his sleep as a baby, who knows what he'll accomplish? 

I was going to stay away from belches and bowel movements but I can't resist writing about what happened last night.  Just after a feeding and burping session he let rip down below. Then again. And again.  And again until we counted 6 ripe ones.  We told him he done well doing 6.  But he keep stretching out 5 fingers looking like he was arguing with us.  Every time we said 6 he'd show us 5.  I guess he's either going to be argumentative or just bad at mathematics.

Transition

'What's it called when women go a bit mad during labour?' said the husband of one of Erin's workmate's to his wife at Erin's leaving do last night.

I much prefer talking to men about labour than women. The most women give is, 'you'll never know the pain unless you go through it yourself.' But most men don't have the filter in their brain to stop themsleves.

'Transition, that's what it's called,' his wife answered, having answered this question a few hundred times before.

'Yeah, transition, that's it. Wow, it's awful. You'll get called everything under there sun, they have no idea what they are saying,' he said looking at his wife for confirmation.

He got it and carried on, 'They tell you they don't love, never loved you, hate you, that you'll never go near them again and you shouldn't have been near them in the first place. There is anger and venom in their voice. They lose it.'

He let go of the emotions which he certainly couldn't during this tirade in labour and ended 'But when it's all over they have more love for you and the baby than you will ever know'.

Later we snook into his son's bedroom. Erin and his wife didn't know what we were doing and thought he was showing his son off. What he was actually doing was letting me feel the temperature of the bedroom. Showing that children need the room cooler than we do. 18 degrees to be precise.

Daddy class III

We were welcomed to the class last night, not by the teacher, Janice, but the youngest member of our class who flipped open his phone and said: 'Meet Ella.'  

His partner gave birth on Tuesday after 3 days and 15 hours of labor, that's 87 hours.  87.

All I could think was, crikey that's almost a (cricket) Test Match.  And I'm sure a lot more of a rollercoaster.

Anway, even though he'd come straight to the class from work after that ultra-marathon-labor, you couldn't wipe the smile off his face and the baby had given him a new lease of life.

We were asked to think about 3 things: how we thought life would change after the birth with our partners, work and friends.

We all thought our priorities would change.  Some would work harder to get more money, others work less as they do too much.  Some mentioned life would now have to be more planned. And all of us said we would be going to the pub less.

The last question on our sheet asked us how we thought we would change as people. I wrote quite an essay.  I got a bit serious, thinking what we're going to have to do in the next few weeks, months and years, about the books I now read from what I used to, and how life is just going to be a whole lot different - all in a state of exhaustion.  

I snapped out of it by telling myself I wouldn't become a typical dad with certain things.  Music was the first I thought about.  I might dance like a dad already, but I won't be buying any Phil Collins or James Blunt in a hurry.

Daddy class II

I was late for Daddy's class last night.  When I walked in, it looked like only three of the 7 lads who attended last week had turned up, but the group had been split in two.

I joined two of them on the floor discussing a group of words which had to be placed in a diamond shape to state the most important to a father.

In no particular order, here they are:

Carer

Homemaker

Bread Winner

Nurturing

Disciplinarian

Friend

Responsible

Entertainer

Playful 

Loving

Hardworking

Trustworthy

Role Model

Dependable

Practical Carer

Good Communicator

Teacher

It was obviously more about the discussion than the order we eventually put the words in but we put Role Model at the top with Dependable and Responsible just under it.  Our logic was that if you are these things and the others below, such as playful and loving - and help to distinguish between what it is right and wrong - a father will naturally become a role model.

This theory was slightly blown out of the water when one of the lads in the other group - who didn't have a great relationship with his dad - said that as his dad wasn't a role model, nor around much for him, and our top pick didn't mean anything to him.  We tried to argue that being a role model is what he could personally strive for rather than just remembering the experience of his dad, but he wasn't having it.

The discussions throughout the night really brought home to me that our only true experience of fatherhood is from our dads.  

Glad I have a good one.

Daddy class I

'Tonight is going to be all about handling the baby,' Janice, the leader of the Expectant Father's Class at St Thomas' Hospital, told the 7 of us men who had ventured forth to learn what the heck we are supposed to do when we become dads.

My initial thoughts were brilliant, we're going to learn the 3-step-putting-kids-on-your- shoulders-manoeurve-without-pulling-your-back. Or, brilliant, we're going to learn the daddy throw (click here to see what I mean - 12 pictures down).

But...I soon realised this was not what we were going to learn as I saw a dreaded baby doll with a nappy on in one corner and another one in a baby bath tub opposite.

After the initial introduction we each explained who we were by stating our name, the name of our partner, how far into her pregnancy she was and why we had come to the lesson (Most of us had already found out while we were waiting for the class to start - we were asking all these questions, not the usual work or sport related ones). The pregnancy dates ranged from 20 weeks to 36, and the reasons were from being forced by partners to a general fear, meeting others to having read too many books which were mind blowing.

Janice cracked on with the lesson by asking who had changed a nappy. Three of us put our hands up. She continued by saying we were going to change the nappy of the baby doll in the corner and she needed a volunteer. All this was said while looking at me. I was the intended volunteer. Half way through realising this I worked out that the only time I had done this had been 18 years ago. Anyway, I got up and took the nappy off pretending there was a great smell, got a few baby-wipes, wiped, got the next nappy, put it on rather awkwardly and sat down with an amazingly sweaty brow (All of this was done with a lot of encouragement and help from the crowd).

Janice was kind in her praise and pointed out that we should talk to the baby - good for bonding - cuddle afterwards, wipe from top to bottom and showed us some holding/cuddling techniques (I'm ashamed to say we needed them).

Everyone else got their own turn and then it was over to the table next to the door for bath-time.

She took us through top and tailing, washing the baby's head - in an 'American football hold' - and a full bath. We were told that a bath is only necessary once a week unless they're really mucky and washing the face and private parts is the only thing you need to do every day.

Then it was splash time for us all.

Next week is about What Type Of Dad We Want To Be. My guess is that has to include a part when we talk about if we're going be a Scalextric-buying-dad or train set-buying-dad. But I might be wrong.

Erin sprouts in Brussels

As I last posted, Erin and I were in Brussels last weekend.  Before we went we had a plan that we were going to see no more than two sights on the Saturday and maybe probably only one, which would be the antiques market on the Sunday.  This was because we didn't want to tire Erin out too much as when she went back to home she had to travel to Cardiff for a four day conference.

This is what we ended up doing.   And not on my encouragement - I was happy to get my book out in a few of the coffee shops/bars.

Saturday:

Gare Centrale

Drop our stuff off at the hotel

walked around the Grote Market

Through the Town Hall square

Ate at Au Suisse

Walked passed the Royal Residence

Mooched around the park opposite

Ambled towards the Triumphal Arch

And slumped on to the Metro back to the hotel.

After a little sleep we went to Sablon Square for a mosey around the expensive art shops, chocolatiers which looked like jewellers, and ate a hearty meal. 

We walked a lot - here's proof.

Sunday was all about breakfast bread, croissants, the antiques market and buying a few keep sakes.  We also went in a toy shop, which Erin struggled to get me out of, just after lunch, before leaving for home.  A great weekend.

Horses or trains

We went to see the midwife for our 30 week check up today.  Kathy was a very friendly but rather firm midwife whose deep throaty laugh could sound fun, a bit terrifying and slightly sinister, depending on the context.

Everything went well.  We were welcomed in with one of Kathy's laughs and were given a  financial advice package to teach us about tax credit, benefits and trust funds - Kathy laughed when Erin asked if there was any money inside the pack - and all was going well.  

Kathy asked if Erin was working.  When Erin said yes she replied: 'Good.  Hard work is good for the baby. A lazy mother means a lazy baby.'  I then told her Erin climbed a mountain last saturday and she belly laughed.

Then came the blood tests.  Erin said that she thought  - and hoped - that Kathy would forget about that.  'Oh, I never forget blood tests,' cue sinister laugh, 'I'm a vampire, I like blood tests.'  She got the blood out of Erin as quick as a flash.  Scarily impressive.

Erin popped up on the bed for Kathy to check the baby.  She measured 32 cm from the top of Erin's belly to the bottom - at 30 weeks it should be 30cm.  Kathy said the baby had probably just had a growing spurt and there was nothing to worry about, really.  She then had a feel around for the baby and found the head.  She said: 'Oh, there's the head.  Do you want to feel it?'  The next thing I knew, the baby's head was between my thumb and forefinger.  Amazing. 

Then she searched for the heartbeat which she found then lost. 'That's funny,' she said a bit worryingly and without laughing.  'The baby just moved.'  Apparently the baby didn't want to be bothered with the heart rate monitor and shunned it.  A minute or so later the heart rate was beating like horses according to Erin and a train according me.  I say this as I asked Kathy if she could tell the sex of the baby through the rate of the heart beat, she said, 'Yes.  If it sounds like horses, it's a boy and if it sounds like a train then it's a girl.'  She wouldn't say what she thought it sounded like and left us disagreeing over which one it was.

I just hope there's nothing wrong with being 32 cm at 30 weeks.

Pregmunity II

I've written about a pregnancy community before.  Pregnant women are instantly friends and instantly give help and advice to each other.  Women who have been though it - mothers - also want to speak others, about their experiences.  They even speak to me and are encouraged by my probably unexpected positive reactions.  

My belief about a pregmunity has been reinforced tonight.

Erin has just walked in from her pregnancy yoga class.  She has been to four sessions in all, but to this one only once before.  And she's come home with a bagful of newborn baby clothes.  The reason? Because last time she went she said that she didn't have her mum or sister close by. This person's sister-in-law had given her lots of things and she has more than enough so decided to give them to us.  She really didn't need to.  We have a good amount of things.  But it's the nicest thing in the world to be thought of.  

If it's you, and you ever read this, thank you very much.

The only problem is that one of the items is an Arsenal Football Club one piece (onesie).  Is that how they get so many fans?  I know I'm northern, but in London we don't even live north of the river.  No off-spring of mine... 

  

Erin and the arm wrestlers

Unfortunately we didn't take the camcorder with us on the big walk of the weekend up a mountain. It would have been great to chronicle Erin's efforts.

But here she is after Sunday's breakfast with a few extras.

Can I have a feel?

Three Welshies, an Ozzie, two 'mericans, two Irish, a Bristolian, a member of indy pop royalty, a chemical engineer, an estate agent, too many journalists and a top ranked UK tennis star joined in on an amazing time in Wales this weekend.

The group on top of Sugarloaf Mountain near Abergavenny, South Wales

Highlights included Chris's home made Bara Brith, watching crows fight over apple cores, and seeing people's reactions when they got to feel the baby kick inside Erin. (And yes Simon, your quiz was, as usual, spectacular).


Back to the baby, we think it's going to be wary around people, a little shy at first, but a show-off when they get to know the people they are around. This is all based on the past few meetings with friends who have tried and failed to feel what's going on inside Erin. The moment they go near her belly nothing seems to happen. This weekend Erin desperately wanted friends, and in particular Caroline, to be able to feel the movements - she's tried for the last 3 meetings without one jab, kick or head roll. But after a little bit of gentle belly holding and calm coaxing a squeal of delight let us know that she had felt it.


On Saturday night, I witnessed a huddle of 5 of our friends around Erin all holding various areas of her stomach. A few months ago that would have been weird, but it's pretty standard fare with friends now. Well, they all got to feel something. Chris was the first to get a jab, then Fred was next. Each person left Erin probably feeling that little bit closer to her. Some did say, however, that they wonder how she puts up with it.


It did take a lot of patience from all concerned to feel the baby, which is why I think he or she will be a little shy. On the way back from Wales with just the two (or three) of us in the car Erin kept saying things like 'oh baby', or 'oh, my baby', or just a 'phew', which told me that there was a whole lot more wriggling to be done than what our friends got to feel this weekend.

Erin and Big Ben

Here's Erin walking past parliament on Saturday. 

Tying shoelaces

Last night we went to an Amnesty International event.  Well, we went round to friends of ours and gave a few pounds to listen to people offer their talents of comedy, music and magic.  It was great fun.

On the way we had to take the Tube, then a train. When we got to Kings Cross station we realised we only had  a minute until the next train.  Erin turned round to me and said: 'I'm not running for it!' 

This follows missing a few buses recently, which we would have definitely run for a few months a go, with Erin turning round to me and giving me a look.  Words aren't always necessary.

Today we went for a long walk at Richmond Park for a bit of exercise.  It's a beautiful royal park with deer and a great view of St Paul's Cathedral from the far side of the park through a strategically placed telescope.  We stopped a few times for Erin to rest her legs, feet and sore back - I'm not saying I didn't enjoy the rest but there were more than usual.  Erin also asked me, as we approached the end of the walk, if I would tie her shoes laces.  I did so without hesitation, if a little over enthusiastically, which led me having to untie them and tie them again less tight.

I guess what I'm saying is Erin's as independent as they come so the difference in her is quite stark to see as she enters her third trimester. 

This week

This week has been a busy one punctuated by three preggers events.

The first was on Monday night.  I stayed up late so I could try to win a bid on Ebay for a winter maternity coat for Erin.  This was after going to H and M, Zara, Top Shop, Gap, Next, Mamas and Papas (and probably a few more which gladly escape me) on an exceptionally rainy, wintry Sunday afternoon in London; Erin losing a few Ebay bids at the very end for 'the cutest jacket' in some kind of Top-Gun-dog-fight;  and Erin in a slight depression because 'I'll never get a winter jacket and I'm going to be so cold and miserable'.

Well, I felt like a hero, bidding at about 30 seconds to go for a winter coat at a good price. 10 second later though I was out-bid. I calmly scurried away (if you can scurry calmly) to place our next bid. The seconds ticked away to zero and I  walked away unharmed victorious.

The full stop (period - to mark the end) of the punctuation has just arrived,  Erin looks great in her new coat. Now back to a few commas of the week.

Erin had her first pregnancy yoga class at St. Thomas' hospital on Wednesday and met some new preggersmates.  The first five minutes were apparently spent with everyone introducing themselves along with their ailments throughout their pregnancy.  Erin says she didn't remember people's names but how far gone they were in their pregnancy. She wondered to herself 'are we no longer people, just bumps?' She thought the yoga was very easy, too easy and wasn't sure if she shouldn't be doing, at the very least, a bit more.

Yesterday she went to a Women's Only session at the hospital with a physiotherapist to learn about protecting her back and exercise.  Apart from sitting in a class for a few minutes full of Spanish speakers, then finding her correct class a little later, everything went really well.  But with the stories she kept coming out with every now and again last night I'm quite glad it was women's only. Wow.  

She was told at this class that she shouldn't be doing too much more exercise than pregnancy yoga.  And although it might 'seem to be too easy' it will really help during labour and is good for her baby's growth.  She now feels reassured.

 

Heads, shoulders, knees and Elbow

As a bit of a fan of indy and alternative music it's great that at the time I am about to become a father some of the artists I have on my I-pod are penning children's music. After Kimya Dawson's recordings, Elbow are to follow up their Mercury Award winning album with one aimed at the younger audience.

And I thought I was going to have to put the Beatle's Yellow Submarine on repeat to keep my youngster sweet (and my sanity up). I realise Radiohead's Kid A would just not have worked.

And apparently there are more.

A visit to the doctor

Things are never easy when visiting our NHS clinic. Erin and I were greeted by a very friendly doctor saying: 'So what seems to be the matter today?'

When Erin told him 'nothing' and that we were booked in for our pre-natal check-up with him he looked bemused and told us that he doesn't do that. He said he did post-natal but nothing before the birth.

We haven't seen our personal midwife, only temporary ones as ours has always been off. This mix up seems to have come from the temp, who not knowing our clinic, booked us in with the doctor who Erin last saw. Unfortunatley it doesn't work like this.

Anyway, Dr Castro - no relation - said he could take Erin's blood pressure and check what needed to be checked and would tell the doctor we should have seen the results 'to make sure he got everything right'.

So he did.

Erin's blood pressure is normal, the baby seems to be growing correctly - 25.2 cm for a 25 week pregnancy is normal, and we heard the traction engine heartbeat of the little one - 145 beats per minute. I shut my eyes and could imagine him stretching and kicking and generally showing off as he knew he was in the spotlight.

Erin's had a cold recently so we asked what she could take for it. The doctor was adamant she should only take paracetemol or herbal remedies. No strepsils or Hall's I'm afraid.

As she has had a bit (well, alot) of heartburn, Erin asked if the amount of Gaviscon she's taking is healthy. It is.

And she asked if she could fly in the next few weeks as she might need to take a trip home. He said the airline might need a letter but that letter would be easy to write as she's in perfect health.

At the end I went back to the heartburn issue. We've been told that as Erin has heartburn it's an indicator of the baby having either a lot of hair or red hair. I asked if he'd heard of this. He laughed: 'No I've never heard of this.' He went on to explain what heartburn was and ended by giggling 'come back and tell me if it is true, though'.

A policeman's helmet

We didn't go to the library this weekend as I mentioned we would. Erin and I were feeling a little groggy because of all the sneezing and blowing into tissues we were doing, so we had a lazy Saturday morning then went to Battersea Park for a walk.




I bought a Mother and Baby magazine and we devoured all its contents.

There was a great article on helping newborns sleep. I turned to it straight away as one of my worst fears in life is insomnia. And a major worry of parenthood is a persistantly crying baby at 1am. And 2am. all the way through to 3am. And further. Every night.

Despite being sponsored by a famous brand of nappies (or diapers), which in my mind slightly degrades it, the article was very informative.

Here are some hints it gave:

Make sure your baby is comfortable.
Put her in the cot when she's sleepy but awake.
Don't go back on the first whimper.
Music can help the baby drop off.
If she needs reassurance stay by the cot but don't make eye contact.
Don't let the baby fall sleep while feeding after 6 weeks.
And agree a strategy with your partner...and stick to it.

So we've got the baby asleep. Onto another issue.

While Erin, Simon, Sarah and myself were in Durham, a couple of weeks ago, it was brought up that it's stated in British law that pregnant women can use a policeman's helmet to relieve themselves in it if necessary.

But unfortunately that myth has been busted.

A journalist from Saturday's favourite read called the Metropolitan Police and their spokesperson said: 'Back in the 19th century this was a law, but fortunately,' for the police rather than mothers-to-be who are caught short, I suppose, 'it's not anymore.'

The end of a cycle

After almost 18 months of biking a daily average of an hour and a half through the heady streets of London, dodging cabs, big red buses and red lights, Erin is finally biting the bullet and joining the rest of London's rat racers on the black, blue, red, brown, pink, green, and yellow lines of the Underground.

She loved to cycle places.

Please spare a thought for her.  She's sad to be travelling with the sweaty masses.

End of the road

This weekend we spent it in the company of mud, tents and loud music. Oh, and a great group of friends.

We went to the End Of the Road festival in Dorset. It's a boutique festival with only 5000 capacity. The bands included Mercury Rev, Calexico, Richard Hawley and my favourite, Bon Iver - here's one of his songs. There were a few great finds throughout the weekend too in The Young Republic, The Mountain Goats and Clare and the Reasons.

One highlight was when Clare (of Clare and the Reasons) apologised for eight years of George W Bush and started singing the tune of Somewhere Over The Rainbow with one word filling all the lyrics - Obama. On leaving the tent we saw a full rainbow arched over the festival. It sent shivers down our spines.

Everyone we were with who knows I write this blog kept asking me what I was going to write about regarding babies or impending fatherhood related to the festival.

Well, here are a few a few thoughts...

There were lots of families who attended the festival. It was great to see but it looked like hard work. The rain on Friday meant even those without children were trudging around. But to do this pushing a pram? It looked tough. The wheels got caked and it looked like no fun at all.

Looking at these families made me have two related independent thoughts; our lives are going to be immensely different this time next year, but also that having a baby doesn't necessarily mean you have to forfeit things. The babies can come along to places with us, just put ear protectors on them when around loud music.

I also saw that our weekends are going to be a whole lot different. Parents were up very early taking their children to learn circus skills or make clay sculptures or watch kids' movies. This was all happening while we were having a lie in or chomping on bacon butties, chatting about the previous night's bands, and discussing who wants to see what. Our priorities are about to change somewhat.

One random chat while we were walking from one stage to another really brought home how much we didn't know about pregnancy when when first started this venture. Our friend Sarah mentioned the time when we announced that we were pregnant to her and Simon while we were in France. None of us were sure if Erin would have been able to go to the festival as she would be almost 6 months in. 'Do you remember?' Sarah giggled. 'We didn't even know if Erin would be able to walk by then.' Between the four of us we have more degrees than people, a few Masters' and post grad diplomas yet we knew nothing about pregnancy.  So much for higher education.

Anyway, Erin walked around a lot.  She was fine.

On another note about music...

Kimya Dawson Sang on the main stage on Sunday.  She's a serious artist, formerly of the Moldy Peaches, but has a children's album out called Alphabutt. She kicked off her performance with the Alphabutt song.  It's all about poo.

After this we commissioned our friends, Fred and Caroline, to sing and record some old and new nursery rhymes.  I'll let you know what they come up with.

Watch it

'Look, you can watch it now,' Erin has just this minute shrieked.

I hadn't got a clue what she was talking about. Then she pointed at her belly, and there it was, visible movement from her bump with little pushes here and there.

It's the first time we've seen this. We can't stop looking and giggling.

The first baby shower

Last Thursday Erin's work colleagues threw her and another girl in the office, who's preggers, a babyshower.

She sent me excited texts when we was coming home on the bus. They played games and she ended up bringing back a lot of cute stuff.

Including:

A toy multi coloured elephant made out of recycled yarn

Baby Gap socks

A wrap around hooded towel for bath time

3 beige onesies with bears and stripes

A cloth photo album for first photos

3 sleeveless bodysuits

3 white onesies

2 white bibs

1 pair of underwear with frogs on

A hat

A snowglobe

And my favourite - a Gardenbug Foot Finder and Wrist Rattle set with ladybirds (or ladybugs) and smiley bright coloured insects to fit on the baby's wrists.  Unfortunately they don't fit mine.

Thank you Samina, Liana, Sioban, Therese, Vanja, Gail, Karina, Samsam and one year old Zachy.                                               

And thanks goes to Erin's sister, Robyn, who sent a lovely little woolen suit, a newborn one piece on the same day. As well as a little toy and stretch mark cream and face cream specifically for the lovely, glowing mum-to-be.